


A Gotham Ghost Story

by Mithen



Category: DCU
Genre: Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Gothamite remembers a night when a ghost story came a little too true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gotham Ghost Story

Have I ever seen a ghost?  Hasn't everyone in Gotham?  I suppose my ghost story is less dramatic than most, but it scared the bejeezus out of me, let me tell you.

It was five years ago on Halloween night.  My best friend Tony and I had broken into the old Wayne family graveyard.  You know the Waynes, right?  That spooky old house way up on the hill to the north?  Well, on the edge of their property is an old graveyard.  People told all sorts of crazy stories about it, and Tony and I had kind of dared each other into spending Halloween night there.  That was where we saw--but I'm getting ahead of myself.

We clambered over the spiky wrought-iron fence into the cemetery.  It was--well, I was going to say it was silent as the grave, but _duh_, I suppose.  But it was really, really quiet there.  There were lots of old trees and the wind went through them and made a scratching, skittering sound like claws on marble sometimes, but mostly it was totally quiet. 

We picked our way through rows of old gravestones, rows of old dead Waynes.  We avoided the glossy black stones that belonged to Thomas and Martha Wayne--something about them and about the carved angel on the monument, blowing its horn was...  Well anyway, we stuck to the older sections.  I've always loved graveyards--the feel of them, the lost stories in the inscriptions.  The saddest ones are always the ones for the kids:  _Agnes, Daughter, died April 6 1820, 3 days old, _with a little white lamb carved above it.  Some of the epitaphs were really creepy:  _"Stop and look as you pass by, As you are now, so once was I, As I am now, so must you be, Prepare for death and follow me."  _I remember that one.  It was a full moon that night and the moonlight made the white headstones shine like they were silver.  We could see our shadows on the frosted grass.

At the far end the graveyard came up against this creepy, dark wood, like something out of a fairy tale.  Not the happy Disney kind of fairy tale either, but the kind with witches who eat kids.  A twisted, gnarled apple tree crouched there, sheltering a scattering of graves.  A few small apples still clung to its bare branches, and I picked one and bit into it.  It was sour but not too bad, at least until I saw Tony's face.  "Those grew out of dead people's bodies, man," he said.  After that it didn't taste very good anymore, but I still had to eat it all anyway--I didn't want to look chicken.  I hucked the core into the woods and they swallowed it up without a sound.  Really creepy.

I was starting to feel kind of stupid for letting Tony dare me into spending the whole night there.  Not that I was _scared_, but it was cold and the trees were casting some pretty weird shadows.  So when Tony suggested we tell ghost stories, I decided I'd better go first.  Maybe if I told a scary enough story, he'd decide to go home.

I pointed to three gravestones under the apple tree.  Two were close together, clearly a pair:  _James Wayne, 1827-1867.  Devoted Husband._  _Cordelia Wayne, 1832-1863.  Loving Wife._  Next to them was another stone:  _Allen Wayne, 1830-1863.  _"You've heard of the Black Silk Ghost, right?"

He shook his head, which was kind of inevitable considering I'd just made it up.  "Well, it all started with two brothers, James and Allen.  James was the older brother, and he was handsome and brave, but proud and jealous, the most jealous man in Gotham, with a streak of black cruelty in his heart.  His brother, Allen, was kinder and gentler, and he loved his big brother like a puppy loves its master, well but not wisely.

"Well, James won the heart of the most beautiful woman in Gotham, Cordelia LaBeau.  Cordelia was pale as ivory, with beautiful long black hair, and eyes like violet stars.  She and James were married and Allen was the best man at the wedding."

A gust of wind rushed through the cemetery, making the apple tree rattle its branches like bones.  "You'd think James would be happy, but a poisonous seed was in his heart.  He became convinced Cordelia looked on Allen with a more than sisterly love.  Soon he couldn't rest any more.  His fears ate at him like acid from inside--every glance his wife gave his brother, every smile he gave her in return, burned him like brimstone.  And maybe Cordelia did come to regret her choice, although her behavior was always above reproach.  But not in James's eyes."

Even though I was making it up, I could see it really clearly in my head:  Cordelia's sad pale face, her husband's harsh words to her.  The words just kind of kept coming, I don't know from where.

"One night, a quarrel broke out in Wayne Manor between James and Allen.  The servants heard angry words, raised voices and accusations.  They heard Cordelia weeping, pleading, and then the sound of a heavy blow.  As the wind howled, they could hear screams and the sound of a violent struggle from the den.  They tried to get in, but it was locked.  They finally broke down the heavy door to find James Wayne holding a poker, covered in his brother's blood, and Allen beaten and mangled to death on the floor.  Cordelia sat by the fire staring, her eyes blank and empty, a bruise rising on her cheekbone.  'He attacked me and I defended myself,' James said, and who could contradict him?  Not Cordelia, who never spoke another word." 

Tony's eyes were big in the moonlight, although he tried to look cool.  "That's all?"

"That's just the beginning.  They buried Allen's mutilated body right here--"  I pointed down at the gravestone and Tony started, like he'd forgotten the stone was right there.  "But every night after that, Cordelia Wayne would rise from her chair in a trance at midnight, still wearing her mourning black silk, and walk to his grave.  Then she'd walk back, never speaking a word or giving a sign she knew anyone."  The shadows of the trees in the moonlight were sharp as knives;  did one of them move _against_ the wind somehow?  "The thorns and briars would tear her dress and her bare white feet, but she never made a murmur, just looked out of her empty violet eyes at everyone.  They tried to lock her up, but she'd just tear at the door until her nails ran blood and they let her out.  Every night she walked here, her black silk flowing in the wind, and when the winter came they finally found her dead on Allen's grave in the snow, with the little scarlet footprints trailing back through the woods."

There was a rustling in the trees that didn't seem to be the wind.  Tony jumped and stared around, and maybe I jumped just a little too, but I had to finish the story now.  Standing there with the gravestones in front of us and the moonlight all over everything--I know it sounds crazy, but it was kind of hard to remember I'd just made it all up.

"Ever since that day, people say they can still see the Black Silk Ghost walking the woods to and fro between the Manor and the graveyard.  She never says anything, just walks, the black silk of mourning like a cloud all around her, her face pale as a star, and her eyes like Death itself.  And they say if you see her...if her eyes meet yours...you'll be dead yourself within the week."

My last words were still hanging in the air when the sound of rippling silk tore the air--and there on the iron fence, Tony and I both saw the billowing dress of the ghost, black against the darkness of the wood.

Well, Tony let out a squeal like a stuck pig and I'm not ashamed to admit when he took to his heels I was right behind him, hoofing it for the cemetery gates.  He scrambled over them and I followed--got a pant loop stuck on one of the spikes and tore the back of them wide open but I didn't give a damn at the moment, I was just happy to be out of there and not facing a vengeful ghost.

Considering I'd made up the story on the spot, I don't know what exactly Tony and I saw that night.  But it was _real.  _Maybe Cordelia's ghost possessed me to finally tell her tale, I don't know. 

I do know I sure never went anywhere near the Wayne graveyard again.

**: : :**

A patch of brightness landed lightly on a gnarled branch of the old apple tree after the two boys' wails had faded out behind them.  That such a vivid costume could have gone undetected in the dreary shadows of the graveyard seemed implausible--but Robin was good enough to manage it.

Dick Grayson flashed a look at his mentor, still poised on the iron fence, the rippling black cape obscuring his form.  "I think you took two years off their lives, you know?"

Batman's mouth was grim.  "They were trespassing."  Then he added, a reluctant smile quirking a corner of his mouth, "Besides, now they have a great story to tell."

Robin leapt from the tree to balance lightly on the fence next to Batman.  "Your definition of a 'Halloween treat' is a bit eccentric, Bruce.  Most people would have gone with a candy apple."

The two of them disappeared into the moonlit woods like ghosts themselves.


End file.
